


Hunting for Dummies

by Redrikki



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Harm to Children, John Winchester's Bad Parenting, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:45:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sid got gutted by a demon in 1934 he figured he was done with hunting.  Turns out he was wrong.  There's a few more demons that need killing and he's going to need Dean Winchester's help to do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

San Francisco, California  
1934

Sid Hutchins had been hunting for nearly ten years before the Slayer walked into his office nine months ago but, at the moment, it didn’t look like either of them would be doing much of anything after tonight. Jisue was a goner for sure. From the angle of her neck as she lay on the floor, Sid knew there was a new Slayer was being called. Of course, he wasn’t much better off. His hands were slick from his futile attempt to hold his intestines in and his vision was starting to turn black at the edges. As the looming demon him raised its blood soaked claws and began to chant, Sid figured his hunting days were over. Boy, was he wrong.

****

Horseheads, New York  
1990

“Hey, kid.”

The boy looked sharply up from the battered knife he’d been inspecting and scanned the room for whoever had called him. Unsurprisingly, his eyes slid right past Sid where he sat on the shelf. Sid sighed. The thing he hated most about being a ventriloquist’s dummy, aside from the part where he couldn’t eat, sleep or get laid, was that he needed a human assistant to do practically everything. That was why he was sitting in a pawn shop in the town he’d tracked the demon to. People came here to shop for junk and he came here to shop for them. This kid was eleven, maybe twelve, and sort of scruffy looking, but the careful way he handled and examined the knife made him a likelier candidate than half the ones Sid had worked with before.

“Over here,” he called and gave a little wave to make sure the boy knew who was talking.

The kid’s eyes went as wide as saucers and his mouth gaped in shock at the sight. He recovered pretty quickly though, glancing first to where his old man was haggling over the price of some tacky silver jewelry and then to the corner where his younger brother was looking at books before heading over to Sid’s shelf. He approached cautiously, like he expected Sid to attack, and gave the dummy an experimental poke.

“You want to buy me,” Sid told the boy. Over the years he had found that, at this stage of the relationship, his helpers were usually freaked out enough to do what they were told.

Not this one though. “Dude,” he sneered, “I’m not gonna buy some evil, talking _doll_.”

“I’m a ventriloquist’s dummy,” Sid corrected with all the dignity a wooden puppet can muster.

“Whatever.” The boy’s disdain was clear. And then it was gone, replaced by suspicion and anger. His freckled face was suddenly menacing as he hissed “Christos” with surprising venom. 

If Sid’s glass eyes could get any wider than open, they would have been huge. How did a kid like this know a trick like that? Sid’s eyes slid to the father. The man looked intense, focused, haunted. Sid could remember seeing that in the mirror back when he was human. With a face like that and a kid who knew how to check for possession, Sid wouldn’t be too surprised if the silver was for bullets and not just a cheap gift for the missus. It had been a long while since he’d run into another hunter, let alone a hunter’s whelp, but it might be a good thing, provided they didn’t just set him on fire. “Relax, kid,” he reassured the boy. “I’m on the level.”

“Hu?” 

Apparently that wasn’t the slang any more. God, he missed the ‘30's. “I’m a hunter,” Sid explained with a sigh. 

“But you’re a do...ah..ventriloquists–”

“Hey, Dean, who ya talking to?” Sid’s jump of surprise almost sent him tumbling from the shelf. How had the little kid managed to sneak up on them, he wondered as he struggled to right himself without being noticed. The two of them must have been pretty wrapped up in their conversation to miss the younger brother’s approach. Sid had been facing the room after all, and a six-year-old with floppy brown hair and a bright yellow t-shirt with mutant turtles should be impossible _not_ to notice. 

“No one.” The automatic lie was practically reflexive. The kid, Dean apparently, looked almost as thrown as Sid but rallied quickly enough with a fairly smooth line of bull. “I was, ah, just seeing if I have what it takes to be a ventriloquist.”

The younger boy’s face was caught somewhere between incredulous and appalled. “Could you be a bigger freak?” 

“I don’t know, could you be a bigger nerd?” Dean taunted back, gesturing to the large book the younger boy clutched to his chests. 

“Shut up.” The boy frowned furiously for an instant before rocketing from angry to excited in less than a heartbeat. “Do you think Dad will let me get it?” he asked, bouncing slightly. 

“You could ask,” Dean suggested pointedly. “So,” he turned back to Sid as his brother scampered off, “where were we?”

“I’m a hunter. There was a curse and a demon and I need your help to kill it,” Sid summed up.

Sid usually took a while to work up to the demon part. After all, most of his helpers had enough trouble just wrapping their minds around a talking dummy. By the time he got around to it, most of the kids he had worked with said things like, why me or how do you kill a demon, but this one was different. This one was a hunters son, and a smart-mouthed little punk at that. “So, he snarked, “other than turning hunters into doll, sorry, _ventriloquist’s dummies_ , what does this demon do?” 

“It kills children.” The smirk slid of the boy’s face as his eyes went to where his brother was trying to persuade their father to buy the book with the sheer force of puppy-dog eyes alone. “Look, Dean. It is Dean, isn’t it?” Sid continued at Dean’s nod. “I’m Sid. This thing, this demon? It goes to schools and it kills kids. I need someone who can get me in so I can hunt it down. Can you do that?”

Dean worried his lower lip for a minute before he finally nodded. “I can help you,” he agreed. He reached out like he wanted to shake on it but grabbed the price tag hanging from Sid’s wrist instead. “I can help,” he repeated, more firmly this time, “but no way I’m shelling out fifty bucks.” He considered the dummy for a moment. “Can you walk?” he asked and grinned at Sid’s nod. “The car’s a black ‘67 Impala. I’ll meet you out there.” 

Decision made and plans established, the kid simply turned to join his family like he talked to demon-hunting dummies every day. Sid smiled to himself as he yanked the price tag from his wrist and jumped silently down from the shelf. He had a good feeling about this one.

****

Sid hadn’t been expecting much. Hunting, he recalled from his pre-dummy days, paid jack, but the crappy apartment one step up from the type of dives where he used to photograph cheating husbands and the home-cooked meal made by an eleven-year-old boy still came as a surprise. Sid watched the entire meal from the discomfort of a flower box outside the kitchen window filled with wet, dead leaves and wished they’d hurry up. By the time Dean let him in after his brother had gone to read and his father had driven off, Sid’s suit was filthy and damp. They were quiet as Dean filled the sink with dirty dishes and Sid attempted to clean himself off. “So,” the boy said in a low voice as he turned on the water. “Tell me about this demon.”

“There were seven of them originally,” Sid began. “I’ve killed five.” He was pleased to note that Dean looked suitably impressed. “They take human form. Near as I can figure, this one looks twelve, maybe thirteen. And no,” he preempted as Dean opened his mouth, “I don’t know what it looks like. Every seven years they have to kill to keep up the illusion, and guess what?”

“Seven years are up?” Dean hazarded. It wasn’t that hard to figure out, even for an eleven-year-old, which probably accounted for the sarcasm. “Are you sure the illusion thing is why it kills people?” he asked with a slight frown. “I mean, twelve or thirteen? That’s seventh grade. I know if I had to be in middle school forever, I’d probably be a homicidal maniac.” Sid’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. Now this was his type of smart ass. “Oh come on,” protested Dean, clearly misinterpreting Sid’s silence. “Do you even remember middle school?”

It had been a long, long while, but yeah, Sid could dimly recall that prepubescent hell. Middle School may drive people crazy, but they had a job to do, and that really wasn’t the point. “If they want to keep looking human, they a brain and a heart,” Sid brought the conversation back on task.

“That runner, Gus Hillman,” Dean murmured to himself, his eyes unfocused and his hand swiping the sponge round and round an already clean plate. “He had his heart cut out last night. Wait,” he whirled back towards Sid, his voice sharp. “You mean Dad’s werewolf is your demon?”

The death was news to Sid, but it wasn’t exactly a shock. He knew the demon was here and its time was running out. It figured Dean’s old man thought the dead kid was a werewolf kill, though. Between the heart and last night’s moon, if Sid didn’t know better, he’d be stocking up on silver too. “Yeah,” Sid told the boy with a sigh. The clock was ticking now. They’d have to move fast if they wanted to catch the damn thing before it got what it wanted and moved on. “It’ll be after a nice, smart brain next, and it’ll be after it soon.”

“How smart we talking?” Dean asked. “The science fair is Saturday,” he explained as he moved the plate to the dish drainer. “They’ll be loads of smart kids there. That soon enough?”

“Oh, yeah.” The demon would be there, probably with a project designed to crack someone’s scull open for easy brain stealing. Sid could feel it in his non-existent bones. “How do we enter? We’ve got to get in there.” The only way to get the thing would be to catch it in the act. Too many chances for mistaken identity otherwise. 

“The projects are due tomorrow,” Dean explained. “There’s so many kids, only the best in each class get to go.” 

“What’s yours?” Sid hoped it wasn’t something stupid or cliché like a baking soda volcano. If they wanted to get in, it would have to be good. 

But Dean looked embarrassed and defensive, and that didn’t bode well. “I was going to blow it off,” he admitted with a shrug. “It’s not like it’s important anyway.”

As a responsible adult, Sid knew he should say something in support of academia and actually doing homework, but, as a puppet who had never been much of a scholar, he opted not to bother. “Well,” he decided to say instead, “it’s important now.”

“Don’t worry,” Dean assured him. “ I’ll come up with something. Yeah,” he said with a slow nod and slightly unfocused eyes, “I’ll come up with something really cool.”

Despite his confident words, there was something in Dean’s face, uncertainty, maybe a little fear, that made Sid worry. “What?” he demanded. If this kid couldn’t pull it off, couldn’t get them in, Sid needed to know it now. 

“I can do it,” Dean insisted. “I can get us in. It’s just that” – he hesitated, worrying his lower lip– “I...I’ve never killed anything before.” The quiet admission was barely audible over the running water. “I can use a gun though,” he said hurriedly to cover the shame of his innocence. “I’m a really good shot. My Dad says so. Better than some Marines even. I just haven’t...I never–”

“It’s okay, kid.” When it came to the demon, his little helpers were usually so scared, but this boy was so calm and almost, well, professional, that it was easy to forget he was just a child. Sid couldn’t expect an eleven-year-old to kill this demon, even the son of a hunter, and frankly, he didn’t want him to. This was his fight, his quest. All he wanted was someone to carry him around, not to get blood on their hands. “I’ll handle the demon,” Sid reassured the boy. “You just get us in.”

The kid nodded, clearly relieved. “I can–”

“Dean.” The boy fumbled the plate he was washing as the childish voice interrupted them from behind. This was the second time today and it seemed the kid had a real knack for sneaking up on people. It was the kind of habit that was good for hunting but also might just get him shot. 

“Sam.” From the startled guilt in Dean’s voice you’d think Sam had caught him watching porn. Sid wondered what his problem was. After all, considering what their dad did, it wasn’t like the kid had never heard a conversation about demons before. 

“Hey,” said the little boy, standing on his tippy-toes to examine Sid. “Isn’t that the dummy from the store?” His face crumpled in confusion. “What’s it doing here?”

Dean turned back to washing dishes. “He followed me home,” he told his brother with enough sarcasm to make the truth sound like an ironic lie. 

The look little Sam turned on his brother would be annoyingly bitchy on an adult, but on him just looked cute. “Why would anyone steal something that creepy?” he asked, reaching out to poke Sid in the stomach. 

“What’s the matter, Samantha,” Dean taunted. “You scared? God,” – he rolled his eyes – “you are such a girl.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sam shot back. “I’m not the one with a _doll_.”

“He’s a ventriloquist’s dummy,” Dean angrily defended both Sid and his own manhood.

“Dean has a doll,” Sam sing-songed. “Dean is a girl.”

“Shut up,” Dean shouted, slamming down the pot he was washing. He whirled to face his brother. “Take it back before I kick your ass.” 

Sam just shook his head and laughed. “I’m not scared of some big girl,” he mocked. 

“Oh, yeah?” Dean aggressively pushed his sleeves back. Sam got the hint this time and began to back away, but not fast enough. “Would a girl do this?” Dean yelled as he caught the younger boy in a flying tackle. They hit the floor with a loud thump and a cacophony of childish shrieking. Sid watched the boys tussle on the floor and sighed. The dishes still weren’t done and Sam wasn’t taking it back, even with the tickle-torture. Something told Sid it would be a while before Dean got to his science project. He reached out to turn off the water and wondered when their father would get home.


	2. Chapter 2

“Dean, this is incredible,” said the teacher with genuine awe in her voice. 

And it really was. With just a few hours, the better part of an Erector Set and a dissected remote-control car, Dean had managed to create a remotely controlled exoskeleton for Sid’s arm that allowed it to be moved up and down and in and out at the swivel of the controller’s joystick. It was a weird sensation, actually being used as a puppet for nearly the first time in his fifty odd years as one. It was worth it though, not only because it got him into the school, but also for the excellent view of the teacher’s cleavage he got as she leaned over to examined his arm. 

While Sid tried to restrain himself from reaching out for a feel, Dean responded to her praise with a blush and awkward head-duck like he’d never gotten a compliment before and wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. “Um, yeah,” the boy agreed with a tepid smile. The teacher’s eyes narrowed slightly at that, but the smile she gave him before going to inspect the next project was warm.

“Um, um, good,” Sid murmured appreciatively to himself as the teacher moved on. Seemed her back end was just as shapely as her front. 

“Dude,” Dean hissed, looking appalled, “did you just check out Ms. Jenkins’ ass?”

“So what if I did?” Sid turned to Dean in surprise. Considering her assets, what red-blooded man wouldn’t?

The expression on the boy’s face was moving from simply appalled to outright horrified. “But you’re a –”

“–Man who appreciates quality craftsmanship,” Sid interrupted before the kid could get too freaked out over the idea of dummies having a sex-life. “And seriously,” he continued, “what’s not to appreciate?” he asked, nodding slightly to where the lovely Ms. Jenkins was looking at some kid’s Chia Pet.

Dean stood, head cocked to the side, as the two of them took a moment to contemplated the way the tightness of Ms. Jenkins’ skirt hugged the curves of her butt as she leaned over the desk. “I don’t get it,” the boy said after a few minutes, confusion clear on his face.

Well, that was something Sid had never heard from any of his high-school age helpers, but he supposed eleven was a little young to be thinking about sex. It had been a long time since he’d been that young. He couldn’t remember; were boys even past the girls-have-cooties stage at that age? “You’ll understand when you’re older,” he assured the kid with a sigh. 

“Class.” Ms. Jenkins’ voice drew their attention. “I’ll be announcing the winner in a moment, but first, I just wanted to say how proud I am,” she said in excessively cheerful tones. “Good job, everyone. Give yourselves a hand,” she added and began to clap. 

Sid snorted quietly at that. Who was she kidding? Aside from Dean’s mechanical arm and one girl’s experiment with tin-can telephones and sound, the other students’ projects were pretty pathetic. There were actually three Chia Pets, two pet rocks and four baking-soda volcanos, for crying out loud.

Ms. Jenkins headed right over to Dean’s desk as soon as the class’s half-hearted applause died down. “Dean, I’m going to name you winner.” The look the boy shot Sid practically screamed I told you so, but his delighted grin slipped from his face as the teacher continued. “But there’s something I have to ask you first.”

“Um, what?” the boy asked, looking shifty and uncertain.

“I can’t help noticing that this is above and beyond the usual quality of your work,” She said pointedly. “It makes me wonder if you didn’t have a little bit of help.” It wasn’t quite an accusation, but her voice said confess none the less.

“Help?” Dean repeated nervously, his eyes shooting to Sid. Clearly the potential exposure of his talking puppet friend worried the boy, but somehow the dummy didn’t think that when the teacher said help she meant him.

“You said your father was a mechanic, right?” Ms. Jenkins elaborated. “Maybe he helped you with it,” she suggested, her patience clearly starting to wear thin. She’d made up her mind, Sid could tell. She just needed Dean to admit he had cheated so she could move on and pick someone else.

Of course, he hadn’t cheated at all. “My father?” Dean gave a little laugh of relief. “Lady,” he said in amusement, “he doesn’t even know there is a science fair. ‘Help me with it,’” he repeated her accusation with an eye roll and another laugh. “That’s a good one.” 

Ms. Jenkins, however, didn’t seem to think it was a good one at all. The knowing expression had gone from her face and now she just looked sad. “Dean,” she said in a quiet, subdued voice, “I get he doesn’t know about the fair, but, considering what’s happened, don’t you think he should?”

****

It was late by the time Sam finally nodded off. For some reason, Sid’s watchful gaze from where he perched on the dresser made it hard for the kid to sleep. Dean waited a full twenty minutes after his brother’s snores started before grabbing Sid and going in search of his father. They found him seated at the kitchen, on the phone and with a notebook full of newspaper clippings and illegible handwriting open before him.

“–Doesn’t make any sense, Jim,” he was growling into the phone in low, frustrated tones as they approached. “There should be more bodies if it’s a ‘wolf, but what the hell else could it be?”

“Dad?” Dean’s voice was hesitant. Sid didn’t blame him. From the sound of things, the man was not a happy camper.

“Dean, I’m on the phone,” his father snapped. “Can’t this wait?” It was clearly a rhetorical question as he had already turned back to his telephone conversation. “Sorry, Jim,” he apologized to the man on the other end. “Where were we?”

“There’s gonna be a demon at the science fair on Saturday,” Dean blurted in a desperate bid to gain his father’s attention. 

It worked too. The man’s basilisk-like gaze snapped up from his notes to his son. The sudden silence in the room seemed to stretch out for hours until the faint, tinny voice from the phone began to shout for attention. “I’ll call you back, Jim,” the man said distractedly and hung up the phone. There was another bout of silence, shorter this time, while he studied his increasingly nervous son. “What makes you think there’s a demon at the science fair?” he finally asked. 

“Sid says so,” Dean said simply. As answers went, it wasn’t the best, but it was late and the kid hadn’t gotten too much sleep the night before, so Sid was willing to let it slide. They would have to explain who he was anyway. Might as well be sooner rather than later.

“Who’s Sid?”

Rather than answer aloud, Dean held out his arms to show what, or rather who, he was carrying. 

His father’s eyes went first to the dummy and then to his son’s face. “Dean,”–he tiredly massaged his forehead – “aren’t you a little old for an imaginary friend?” he asked, exhaustion and disappointment clear in his voice.

The boy’s shoulders sunk at the rebuke, but Sid had had enough. He could understand the man’s causal dismissal of his existence. After all, talking dummies weren’t exactly common, but they really didn’t have time for this. “For crying out loud,” Sid snapped as he squirmed out of Dean’s arms. This was the kind of conversation he wanted to have on his own two feet. “Would it kill you to actually listen to your son?” he demanded, glaring up at the man from the floor. 

The man’s eyes went wide for a split second before they narrowed again into dangerous slits. “Christos,” he snarled, eyes fixed on Sid’s face.

Sid swallowed a laugh. Boy, was this family predictable. “You don’t think the kid already tried that?” he asked with a roll of his eyes. “I’m not a demon,” he told the man. “I’m just a hunter on a long, long run of really bad luck.”

“Hunter, hu?” The man clearly still wasn’t buying it.

“That’s right. Sid Hutchins,” Sid introduced himself, extending his hand. "From San Francisco." 

 

“John Winchester,” the man introduced himself but made no move to shake Sid’s hand. “Never heard of you.”

Well, Sid hadn’t heard of him either and he was getting pretty sick of Winchester’s attitude. He was about to tell him that when Dean, who they’d both managed to forgotten, brought them back to the real topic of their conversation. “Sid’s here hunting your werewolf,” he said. “Only, it’s really a demon.”

“A demon?” Winchester reacted like a dog with a scent. “Tell me about it,” he commanded. 

So Sid did, everything he had told Dean and more. Unlike his son, the elder Winchester listened quietly, without comment, and actually took notes. “So,” he said when Sid was done, “there’s no way to spot them before the illusion goes?”

It was a good question and one Sid actually had to stop and think about. “Well, they’re preternaturally strong,” he explained, “but it’s not like they advertise that fact. Christos might work, but, to be honest, I’ve never tried it.” He shrugged at Winchester’s look of surprise. “It’s always been pretty obvious what they are when I hack their heads off.”

“And you need to take the head and heart?” Winchester confirmed, making another note at Sid’s nod. Writing done, the man laid his pen down with a sigh and scrubbed his face with his hands. “The school newsletter said the science fair is participating students and their families only. How the hell are we supposed to get in?”

“Good thing we have a participating student,” Sid said smugly. 

“Who?” The confusion was clear on Winchester’s face in the moment before he figured it out. “Dean?” he asked incredulously, bursting into a wide grin at his son’s hesitant nod. “That’s great, son. What’s your project?”

“Is that really important?” Dean asked, clearly thrown by his father’s enthusiasm. 

“It is to me,” Winchester told his son, his tone serious. 

“It’s a remote control arm,” Dean said. “For Sid,” he elaborated in the face of his father’s obvious confusion. “He’s a puppet, see,” he explained, picking up speed, “but he can move himself and I thought; remote controlled puppet, how cool would that be?” Since Sid had met him, he’d seen Dean serious and sarcastic, laughing and angry, but this was the first time he’s seen the boy excited. It was sort of like Sam with a book, only with less bouncing. “So I made this arm with Sammy’s Erector Set and the servo from that broken remote-control car,” he went on. “It goes right over Sid’s arm and moves it around and stuff. And yeah...” he trailed off. “That’s my project.” 

“That’s my boy,” said Winchester, real pride in his voice. “You get that mechanical genius from my side of the family.”

Dean was suddenly shy and uncomfortable again, like he had been with Ms. Jenkins. From his reaction, praise was probably a rare thing in the Winchester household. Sort of sad really. “I’d hate to break this up,” Sid interrupted the touching and increasingly awkward moment, “but we still have plans to make and someone has school tomorrow.”

“Right,” said Winchester getting back to business. He grabbed Sid around his waist and hoisted him up onto the table. “Take a seat, Dean,” he told his son. “We’ve got a hunt to plan.”

****

“Carry on my wayward son. There’ll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary–” 

The radio shut off with the engine and Sid sighed with relief. It wasn’t that a long trip to the middle school from the Winchester’s apartment, but there was only so much of classic rock that Sid could take. He didn’t know how kids these days could listen to that shit. Give him Benny Goodman or Duke Ellington any day of the week. 

“All right,” Winchester broke the silence the lack of radio had left behind. “Dean, you have your project?” He had already asked the boy that at least five times since they’d dropped Sam off at his friend’s, but Sid got the impression Winchester was thorough, or maybe just a tad obsessive.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said, patting the contraption on Sid’s arm.

“And the knife?” His voice was sharp. After all, he’d only asked about that twice. 

“In my bag,” Dean replied calmly with a lot more patience than Sid had.

“You remember your job?” Of course the boy did. They’d gone over it a million times.

“I stay at my post and I stick with Sid,” Dean recited. “If I see anything suspicious, I say Christos and call for you. I got it, Dad,” he told his father with a smile. “We’re good.”

The man gave a swift, jerky nod and Sid couldn’t help needling him a little. “Got your machete, Winchester?” he asked, mimicking the man’s tone.

Dean got the joke if his grin and smothered laugh was anything to go by, but the elder Winchester missed it in his focus on the job. “Sports-bag in the trunk,” he told Sid as he got out of the car. Dean scrambled to follow, juggling Sid and his book-bag in his search for the door handle. By the time they made it out of the car, Winchester was already leaning against the fender with a battered blue sports-bag hanging from his shoulder. “You ready, Hutchins?” he asked, straightening up.

“Always.” It was difficult to sound tough while being carried into battle by an eleven-year-old, but Sid thought he pulled it off. “Let’s do this.”


	3. Chapter 3

“What is _that_?” The speaker was a boy, a year or two older than Dean. People had been stopping by their table all afternoon, but they had yet to spot the demon. They had split up almost as soon as they hit the gym; Dean and Sid heading to their assigned table near the door to the fields, and Winchester going off to prowl the floor looking menacing. The place was packed, students and their parents milling about, studying the various projects on their bunting-covered tables. It made their search for the demon like looking for a needle in a moving, brightly-colored haystack. They were getting no where.

“It’s a remote control arm,” Dean explained. The other boy must have been the hundredth person he had said that to today, but you couldn’t hear it in Dean’s voice. “See?” he said, picking up the controller to demonstrate. Dean might not be tired of all the attention yet, but if Sid had his arm moved one more time like that, he might have to hit someone.

“That’s really cool,” the other boy exclaimed. “It must have taken you forever,” he said sympathetically. “What with the research and the build time.”

Dean worried his lower lip and glanced furtively around to see if anyone was listening in. “Actually,” he quietly confided in the other boy, “I pretty much pulled it out of my ass. Got the idea when I saw the dummy in a pawn shop, and just threw it together in a couple of hours.”

The older boy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wow,” he sounded genuinely impressed, “you must be really smart.” Dean flushed and looked shyly down at the compliment, but something in the kid’s voice put Sid on alert. He hadn’t just sounded impressed, he’d sounded almost hungry. “Hey, want to see my project?” he suggested eagerly.

“What is it?” Dean asked and Sid wanted to scream at him. There was something seriously wrong with this kid. He was just pushy and predatory enough to be their demon. Sid couldn’t afford to give himself away, but he needed some way to warn Dean.

The suspected demon’s smile was wide and wolf-ish. “It’s a human brain,” he said. “Well,” he hedged, “a model of one anyway.” 

Don’t go, Dean, Sid mentally screamed at the boy. But the demon was right; Dean was smart and the thing’s ploy was about as subtle as a brick through the front window. “Ah, that sounds really neat,” Dean said with wary politeness. “I’ll be sure to check it out in a bit.”

The demon reached out to grab Dean’s arm. “I want you to see it now,” it said, pulling the smaller boy in close. 

Dean looked down at the hand gripping his arm and gulped. “Christos,” he whispered, looking back up. 

The holy word did not go over well. Christos usually turned most demons’ eyes black, but this one’s eyes turned golden with slit pupils like a cat’s. It tightened its grip on Dean’s arm with an angry snarl and spun the smaller boy around to hug him to its chest. “Sid,” Dean managed to gasp before the demon clamped a hand over his mouth. Dean tried to put up a fight, biting down on the demon’s hand and slamming it in the stomach with his elbow, but neither even slowed it down as it pulled him towards the exit. The table jumped as the boy kicked in a last ditch attempt, but no one heard it over the general din and no one moved to help as he was dragged outside.

“Winchester,” Sid bellowed as the door slammed shut. “ It’s got Dean!” He couldn’t spot the man in the crowd and he couldn’t afford wait. Sid leapt to the floor, shedding bits of Dean’s contraption as he went, and dove under the table in search of the knife. By the time he had it in his grip, Winchester was there looking wild-eyed and furious. 

“Where is he?” the man demanded, pulling the machete clear of his bag. 

Several nearby people screamed at the sight, but both hunters ignored them. “Out there,” Sid gestured with the knife. They’d have to move fast to save Dean, kill the demon and get the hell out of here before the cops showed up.

They hit the door at a dead run, but the sight that awaited them outside made them draw up short. Dean was on his knees, dazed and clutching his right arm to his chest with the beginnings of what promised to be a spectacular bruise blooming across his face. The demon loomed over him, a large rock in its hand. Bashing someone’s head in was a messy and difficult way to get someone’s brains, and Sid figured they weren’t the only ones who’s day wasn’t going as planned. 

“Dean,” Winchester roared beside him, completely ruining the element of surprise. The demon whirled around with a growl. Its eyes had not changed back to the more human hazel, and the patches of dark green skin on its face made it clear that it was running out of time. 

Dean used the distraction to his advantage, gaining his feet and taking a left-handed swing at the back of the demon’s head with a rock of his own. Enraged but not particularly hurt, the demon turned back to his original prey and backhanded the boy to the ground. Winchester, meanwhile, charged into the fray with a wordless yell of anger. The demon spun to meet him, seizing his wrist and using the man’s own momentum to toss him onto his son. It picked up the machete Winchester had dropped and prepared to deal with the both of them. 

That’s when Sid struck. He came in quickly while the thing’s back was turned and slashed fast and hard across the tendons in the back of its legs, effectively hamstringing it. The demon crashed to its knees with a yelp of surprise and pain, the machete tumbling from its grasp. The demon spun on its knee and swept Sid into a bone-crushing embrace. Sid, of course, didn’t have bones but he could hear his wooden frame starting to creak when the tip of the machete ruffled his hair as it passed through the demon’s neck. 

The demon’s illusion shattered with its death leaving a scaly green monster slumped on top of Sid with its severed head lying a few feet away. Sid could see Winchester over the stump of the demon’s neck, his chest heaving and his eyes wide. He couldn’t spot Dean, but Sid could tell that neither of them would be up for the next part. He squirmed out from under the demon’s bulk and went for the knife. “You have to get the heart,” he reminded as he plunged the blade into the thing’s chest. 

“Did we get it?” Dean gasped. The boy was on his feet, but swaying and so pale that each of his freckles stood out like spots of brown paint. “Is it dead?” 

“Yeah, son,” Winchester assured him, looking to where Sid was busy slicing the demon’s heart into bits. “It’s dead.”

“Good,” Dean pronounced and fell to the grounded in a dead faint.

****

Three hours later, they were sitting in the parking lot outside St. Joseph’s Hospital in the neighboring town of Elmira. They all looked like crap; Dean with his broken arm, Winchester with his bruises and Sid with his demon-blood spattered suit. “I guess we’re moving now, hu?” Dean quipped, fingering the edge of his pristine white cast.

“Looks like.” Winchester didn’t even look at his son as he started the car. The engine sputtered for a moment, but then come to life with a roar and a blast of power chords from the radio. The man turned it off with a brutal snap of his wrist, plunging the car into tense silence.

“Sammy’s gonna be pissed,” Dean observed. 

Winchester threw the car into reverse, never making eye contact with his son. “He’ll get over it.” If he’s father’s tone was anything to go by, he’d have to.

Dean took a deep breath, looking for all the world like he wanted to cry. “I’m sorry I screwed up,” he whispered, depression and defeat in every line of his body.

“What are you talking about?” Sid knew he was coming off as aggressively cheerful by comparison, but the kid had no real reason to be beating himself up like he was. Okay, so things hadn’t gone exactly according to plan, but Dean had handled himself as well as anyone Sid had worked with who wasn’t the Slayer. “We got the damn thing, didn’t we?” Sure, the kid’s arm was broken, but any fight you could walk away from when the other guy couldn’t was a win in Sid’s book. 

Not in this family apparently. The two of them continued to wallow in their angst like Sid hadn’t even spoken. “We’ll have to work on your hand-to-hand,” Winchester told his son. “Get you up to scratch on your left side,” he added, actually glancing for the first time at his son’s broken right arm before turning sharply away.

“Yes, sir,” Dean agreed tonelessly as the car turned left onto Church Street heading towards Route 17, Horseheads and their soon-to-be-former home.

Winchester’s hands were tight on the steering wheel and his jaw looked clenched hard enough to crack nuts. He looked over to where his son sat dejected with Sid in his lap and released some of that tension with a deep sigh. “We were gonna move soon anyway,” he told the boy as they rolled to a stop at a red light. “I found a job up in Maine.” From the way he said job, Sid knew he meant a hunt and not gainful employment. 

“Really?” Dean asked, like somehow that would make it better. 

What is wrong with this family, Sid wondered as he looked from one Winchester to the other. From what he remembered, his own old man hadn’t been into the new-age touchy-feely crap all those dad’s had on television these days, but he’d usually known the right thing to say. Dean needed some parental approval, maybe even a hug, but he didn’t know how to ask for it and Winchester sure as hell didn’t know how to give it. It practically bordered on tragic. “Guess we’ve all got a new hunt,” Sid grumbled just so he’d have something to say. 

“But you’re coming with us, Sid, right?” Dean asked, worry and need plain in his voice.

Sid opened his mouth but hesitated. He usually left his helpers after they had made the kill, but this was the first time since he’d been a dummy that he had worked with another hunter. Clearly the kid had a few more years to go before he should really be doing this job, but, even though they didn’t exactly get along, Sid knew he could accomplish a lot working with his old man. 

“He has his own hunt, Dean,” Winchester told his son in a tone that brooked no argument. “Hutchins,” he finally decided to consult Sid himself, “where can I drop you off?” 

Sid thought about protesting. He liked the boy and he liked having a place to live. On the other hand, a few more week’s of this family’s simmering tension and manly angst and Sid would be tearing his plastic hair out. “Bus station,” he said.

Winchester made a u-turn on the mostly empty street, taking them back towards downtown Elmira and the station. The town being what it was, it didn’t take them long to get there. The man put the car in park, and Dean got out with Sid. He set the dummy down on a bench and sat down next to him. They sat for a moment in companionable silence, listening to the Impala rumble with its driver’s impatience. 

“You did good, kid,” Sid told the boy beside him. “You came up with that project, you kept your shit together and you got the job done.” It was the god’s honest truth and Dean needed to hear it from someone.

The boy reacted to the praise like he always did; a shy little head-duck and a general air of awkwardness. His head stayed down for a long moment, and when he looked up, his eyes were glistening and his smile was tight. “Good luck, Sid,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, sure, kid,” Sid agreed, but, as he watched the car pull away, he knew he wouldn’t.


End file.
